


Secrets

by Glassdarkly



Series: Second Front [8]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Action, Alternate Canon, Angst, Drama, Gen, Horror, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 08:36:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glassdarkly/pseuds/Glassdarkly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Giles finds unexpected allies in his attempt to escape from Watchers' HQ, but some of those allies have their own agendas. Then more terrifying secrets come to light.</p>
<p>The eighth story in the Second Front series, an alternate canon BtVS season 7. Set around the time of <i>Conversations With Dead People</i>.</p>
<p>First posted to Livejournal in November 2013.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets

"Stay back!" 

Giles held the piece of broken stool in front of him. His arm was steady, which was a relief, given how unnerved he was by Griffiths. If it came to a fight, Giles didn't fancy his chances at all.

Griffiths' frosty blue gaze didn't waver.

"There's no need for alarm, sir. Please lower your weapon."

So you can put me in a holding cell, or lock me away in the Annexe, Giles thought. Aloud, he said, "I don't think so."

Griffiths didn't even blink. "I said I wanted to talk to you. Now, I won't ask again - lower your weapon."

"Not bloody likely." Giles kept the cudgel-like piece of wood raised. He kept his eyes on Griffiths' while inside his head, the voice of his long-ago physical combat instructor intoned, "The eyes, lad. Always watch the eyes." 

But Griffiths' unwavering gaze gave absolutely no warning - not even a tightening of the skin around the eyes - when the man suddenly grabbed the end of Giles's makeshift weapon, twisted, and disarmed him with terrifying ease.

Griffiths threw the stool leg into the corner of the room. "That's better."

Giles jumped back. It had happened so suddenly that it took him a second or two to realise that his whole right arm had gone numb. For a moment, he was afraid Griffiths had broken it, but the tingling in his fingers reassured him he hadn't. 

Griffiths could have broken it, though. That he'd chosen not to....

Well, it might mean that things weren't quite as dire as they seemed. Equally, it might mean the opposite.

"What do you want?" Giles glared at Griffiths, nursing his sore arm.

"A few minutes of your time, sir, if you would." Griffiths indicated one of the wooden stools lined up along the nearest lab bench. "Take a seat."

Giles hesitated, then, because there was obviously no point arguing, he sat down. "I'm listening."

"Very good, sir." Griffiths adopted a somewhat more relaxed pose. Not 'at ease', but close. "You were listening outside the door when the call came through about the safe house in the Cotswolds."

It wasn't a question but a statement of fact. After a moment, Giles gave a wary nod.

"I was."

"Good. You also understand that, as a consequence of that incident, the three young women currently in detention here in this building have become a very valuable asset?"

Giles nodded. That was the longest sentence he'd yet heard from Griffiths, and something about the man's manner of speaking was ringing alarm bells.

"You're secret service," Giles blurted out. "Aren't you? Which is it? Five? Six? Or something else?"

Again, Griffiths didn't even blink. "Good guess, sir." 

Giles noted that he neither confirmed nor denied the accusation. 

"To return to the matter in hand" Griffiths went on, "I don't believe it's safe here any longer and it's my intention to remove the three girls from this building and place them in protective custody elsewhere. The less distress they suffer in the process the better, so I want you with me to reassure them."

"Me?" Giles stared. 

For a moment, he was on the point of telling Griffiths that he didn't think any of the Potential Slayers would find him the least bit reassuring, given that he'd brought them here in the first place. But good sense prevailed. He needed to tread carefully - perhaps more carefully than at any other time in his life.

Stalling for time, he said, 

"I would have thought being well protected would reassure the girls more than anything, and you have a whole squad of men at your disposal. You don't need me as well."

Griffiths shook his head. "They're not my men. They're Watchers' Council."

"Ah." Giles flexed his wrist. The numbness had practically gone now. "And Travers doesn't know who you-"

"He does know, but that's not the point," Griffiths interrupted. "I can't rely on them. Can I rely on you?"

Giles looked Griffiths in the eyes again, though their coldness made him shudder.

"Why me?" he asked, bluntly.

Griffiths' lips thinned - the most reaction Giles had seen from him so far.

"As you may have guessed, I have a twofold role here," Griffiths said. "One, to give the Watchers' Council the benefit of my expertise in certain...areas. The other, to report back on them to my superiors." 

That explained Travers' odd deference to the man, Giles thought. The taciturn, non-commissioned officer persona was exactly that - a persona, and Travers knew all too well what lurked behind it.

There was a definite edge of contempt in Griffiths' voice as he continued. 

"Recently, I've reported that Travers is becoming a liability. He's made some very poor decisions and allowed the current situation to spiral out of control. Good people have died because of him. He may even have put the country at risk. You, on the other hand, appear to have a good grasp of what's at stake here."

"And how do you come to that conclusion?" Giles asked, taken aback. What he could have done to make Griffiths form such an opinion, he had no idea.

"From your reaction to Travers' treatment of two of the girls," Griffiths responded. 

Giles blinked. Either he wasn't nearly as good an actor as he'd hoped, or...

Oh, of course.

"Which you know about," he said, "because you heard every word of my conversation with Dr De Souza?"

"Yes," Griffiths agreed. "I told Travers there was something wrong with the sound on the surveillance system. That wasn't true. I decided it served me better to keep you in play and let him go on believing you were on his side."

"Thank you for that." Griffiths had hardly done it for Giles's sake, of course, but it seemed only right to say it. 

Griffiths responded by glancing at his watch. 

"Well? Do we have a deal?"

Giles looked at his own watch. Five thirty in the morning. It would be getting light outside. 

"If I help you, what'll happen to me afterwards?" 

Griffiths shrugged, "That's up to my superiors. I'm sure they'll be grateful for your co-operation."

_Oh, are you?_ It seemed very unlikely, Giles thought, that once in their hands, Griffiths' 'superiors' would allow him to leave the country, or even to leave their custody. Nor could they be trusted to see the bigger picture, or to understand it even if they did.

On the other hand, if he wanted to save anything from this debacle, what choice did he have?

Aloud, he said, "There's one condition."

The look on Griffiths' face told Giles he was treading on thin ice, but all the man said was, "And what's that?"

"My friend, Charles Robson, has to come with us. And..." Giles licked his lips, wary of Griffiths' reaction, "... the vampire. Spike. Him also."

Griffiths shook his head emphatically. "No. To both. Robson's a Watcher."

Giles stared. " _I'm_ a Watcher."

"Not like him," Griffiths insisted. "Travers may not like him, but unlike you, he still believes."

Giles frowned, unsure what Griffiths was implying. 

"Be that as it may, I want him brought along. As for Spike, he may well hold the answer to how we're to defeat our enemy. He's a valuable asset, like the girls. Leaving him in Travers' power would be...unwise."

Griffiths shook his head again. "I disagree. Less an asset, more a threat to national security. Bad enough that it's a vampire, but the thing's been brainwashed. Better to kill it and be done with it."

Giles's blood ran cold. Griffiths would dust Spike without hesitation, he knew. In fact, maybe he'd already done it.

"I thought that myself at one time," he said, quickly. "Now, I think it's better to let him live. Imperative, even."

Griffiths' eyes were like ice crystals. "The answer's still no. It's too dangerous. Let Travers deal with it."

Giles's heart sank. It appeared that Griffiths hadn't already disposed of Spike, which was a relief, but it didn't look like he was going to change his mind.

Giles reminded himself that whatever his personal feelings for Spike, other things - older, deeper loyalties -were more important. 

Still, he had to try. 

"For the Slayer's sake," he said, "I'm asking you to reconsider. Spike may be our only shot at divining the enemy's purpose. There's more at stake here than-"

"I don't care about the Slayer," Griffiths snapped. "She's out of my jurisdiction."

Five, then, and interested only in national security. Suddenly, Giles was angry. Of course, Griffiths didn't care about Buffy. The myopia of national governments!

But the revelation only made him more determined to save what he could.

"All right, then," he said. "I can see how Her Majesty's Government could benefit from one of the three girls here - all of them British- becoming the next Slayer, and therefore how imperative it is to get them to a place of greater safety. That being the case, though, it's surely worth bearing in mind that one of them - Norah - has become very attached to Charles Robson. I think it unlikely she'll leave here without him."

When Griffiths said nothing, Giles continued, "And believe me, if you think you can make a teenage girl go somewhere she doesn't want to go without a great deal of fuss - very loud, noticeable fuss - you're mistaken."

Griffiths frowned, his composure ruffled at last. "Robson's been drugged. We'd have to carry him. It's not practicable."

"It is if we bring the vampire," Giles said, quickly. "He's strong. He could carry Robson easily."

Before Griffiths could interrupt him, Giles hurried on, "I understand your reluctance, believe me. But Spike still has the behaviour modification chip. He can't harm humans." As he said it, Giles reflected that he still didn't know if this was true.

"Unless he's triggered," Griffiths snapped, looking almost irritable now.

"Yes, well, I think, in the circumstances that's a risk we'll have to take. Besides, young Norah's rather fond of Spike too."

Griffiths' expression suggested that he thought 'young Norah' could go to the devil, but in the end, he said, "All right. But the first sign of trouble and I'll dust him. Got that?"

Giles nodded. "Absolutely."

*

Griffiths might not have had time to put Spike in a holding cell, as Travers had instructed, but he'd muzzled him again before setting off to track Giles down.

The worn, stained leather covering Spike's lower face was in stark contrast to his undernourished pallor. His blue eyes were darkly shadowed and wary as he watched Giles approach with Griffiths at his side. 

"I'm going to take that muzzle off him," Giles told Griffiths. "He's not a wild animal."

Griffiths said nothing, but Giles could tell he both disagreed and disapproved.

Giles unfastened the buckles, lifted the muzzle away and dropped it on the floor. He wanted to kick it into the corner, but what was the point? Spike no doubt felt so thoroughly betrayed by him at this point that he would see it as an empty gesture. 

The muzzle hadn't been on long enough this time to indent its angry red criss-cross pattern in Spike's flesh, but he drew a deep breath as it fell away, and inhaled a grateful gulp of air. 

With a chill, Giles realised that, prior to that, he'd not been breathing at all. 

"What's this, then?" Spike said, in a hostile tone, looking from Griffiths to Giles and back. "Don't you wankers bloody listen? Draggin' old Rupert in here doesn't make any difference. I already said I'm not interested in becoming your secret weapon. In any case, his blood prob'ly tastes like crap."

Giles grimaced. He couldn't blame Spike for his animosity, though.

"No such thing," he said. "We're getting out of here, Spike. All of us. You included." He turned to Griffiths. "Give me the key to the shackles."

When Griffiths shook his head, Giles frowned. "Come on, man. You said yourself we don't have much time. Keeping him in chains will only slow us down."

There was a pause. Then, Griffiths dug into his pocket, brought out a key and handed it to Giles.   
"I'm warning you again," Griffiths said, "if there's any trouble - any at all..." He didn't finish the sentence, but the meaning was implicit.

_Yes, yes. I heard you the first time_. Giles went down on one knee to unlock the shackles around Spike's ankles. As he did so, he glanced up into Spike's eyes, to find them staring back at him. Spike was frowning, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

And a good thing too, Giles thought, very aware of Griffiths' gaze on them both.

The ankle shackles fell to the floor. Those on Spike's wrists went next. The skin was rubbed raw underneath them. Giles frowned at the sight. 

"Can you stand?" he asked.

"Think so," Spike muttered. He pushed himself out of the metal chair and wavered to his feet. Giles reached out to put a supportive hand under his elbow, but Spike shrugged off his grip. "'M fine."

"Glad to hear it." Giles let his hand drop, tamping down hard on his absurd sense of rejection. 

He watched, purse-lipped, as Spike shook life back into his cramped limbs, stretching until each rib, and the concave hollows between them, were starkly delineated through his pale skin. Spike shivered. "S'bloody freezing in here."

"We need to find him a shirt," Giles said, to Griffiths. "Shoes too. I have spare ones in my room."

"Later," Griffiths snapped. "When we come back for the Gieves-Bowen girl. We have to get Robson and the other two out of the Annexe first. There's no outside exit from the building that side."

He crossed to the wall and pressed a switch, and at once a high, ear-piercing alarm began to sound. Spike yelped and covered his ears.

"Ouch! Give a bloke some warning, can't you?"

Griffiths ignored him. "The general alarm," he told Giles. "As Travers ordered. When it sounds, all senior Watchers on site will convene in the War Room in the basement, and the building will go on lockdown. If we're quick, we should encounter minimal opposition."

Giles glanced at Spike. Spike was frowning again, and from the look on his face, bursting with questions.

"Later," Giles mouthed at him. Spike's frown deepened, but he nodded.

*

The alarm was still shrilling as Griffiths unlocked the door into the Annexe, but as Giles followed him through, the sound cut off abruptly.

The ensuing silence, broken only by the sound of their running feet, was just as loud in its own way. It pressed on Giles's ears, which were already filled with the uncomfortable drubbing of his own heart. 

If he ever got out of this, Giles told himself, he would make a concerted effort to get fit again. Turning fifty was absolutely no excuse for letting oneself go.

He gazed around him as they went. So this was the infamous Annexe. As a young Watcher, it had been out of bounds to him, and in later years, he'd spent very little time in Watchers' HQ, and never thought to ask about it. 

The place had obviously been refurbished in the seventies, any original features of the Georgian building hacked about and destroyed by the addition of new plasterboard interior walls. The ceiling - another recent feature, from the look of it - was low and oppressive, and painted, like the walls, a particularly vile limp-lettuce green. 

They were running along a corridor that ran straight in front of them, towards a blank wall in the distance. The carpet underfoot - another relic of the Seventies - was brown, with a loud paisley pattern, and worn thin in places by the passage of innumerable Watcher-ly feet. The air was close and smelt of damp and neglect. 

At intervals, closed doors, painted brown, turned hostile blank faces on the corridor. Giles wondered what was behind them. Perhaps he was better off not knowing?

"What a fucking dump!" Spike muttered, and Giles couldn't help nodding in agreement.

"Down here," Griffiths turned left suddenly, into a side passage. At once, they moved from carpet to stained, ancient lino, and the sound of their feet grew louder. Certainly, someone seemed to have heard them, because at the far end of the corridor that someone was pounding on a door and shouting.

"Fucking lemme out of here, you perverts! I'll have the feds on you." 

More of the same followed, the expletives growing more colourful with every word. 

Molly, unmistakeably. 

Giles glanced at Spike again, to see a look of mingled amusement and ...was that surprise, on his face, as Molly's tirade continued? Possibly, there were some swear words that even Spike didn't know.

When Griffiths put the key in the lock, the pounding stopped and there was the sound of feet retreating from the door in a hurry. When it was flung open, Molly had rammed herself into a corner, where she stood glaring at them from under her ferociously sculpted brows. A table lamp - the only thing even remotely resembling a weapon in the dull, utilitarian room - was held poised ready to throw. 

"Stay away from me!" Molly shouted. "Bloody warning you."

Despite her belligerence, it was obvious the girl was terrified, and Giles was glad that Griffiths made no move to approach her - until he realised Griffiths was looking at him, as if to say, _go on, then. Do your stuff_. 

Giles took a deep breath, stepped past Griffiths and into the room.

"It's all right, Molly," he said. "We've come to get you out of here." 

But Molly only raised the lamp higher. "What d'you take me for? A bloody idiot? You was the one brought us here, you lying tosser."

"Yes, I..." Giles began, but Molly interrupted him.

"They stuck needles in my bloody arm!" she practically snarled. "They drugged me. And it's all your fault, you fucking paedo."

"I..." Giles tried again, but Molly was unstoppable.

"And what've you done with Annabelle? If you've laid a fucking finger on the dozy bitch, I'll rip your fucking head off, I swear I will." 

Giles was beginning to feel annoyed - not least because he could sense Griffiths' growing impatience. If the man should change his mind...

He opened his mouth to try again. "I assure you, Molly..."

But at that moment, Spike pushed past him. 

"Molly, 'ey?" Spike practically purred. "Always thought that was a charming name, and may I say, miss, how well it suits you?"

"What?" Molly gaped at him, and then it seemed she couldn't look away. "Who're you?" 

Spike took another step forward. "Name's Spike. Me an' dear old Rupert -" he glanced over his shoulder - "oh, and James Bond over there, have come to rescue you."

"James Bond?" Molly's wide-eyed gaze almost drifted from Spike to Griffiths, but not quite. 

"Yeah." Spike grinned at her, and Giles could almost see her melting towards him. "'Less I'm mistaken, bloke's on Her Majesty's Secret Service. Licensed to kill, an' all that."

Molly blinked, confused, but then her face cleared. "Oooh, you mean he's a spy." This time, she did look at Griffiths, though only momentarily. "Why're you called Spike, then?"

"It's a long story." 

All the time they'd been speaking, Spike had been taking one slow step after another across the room. As he finished, he flicked his tongue at Molly in a way that struck Giles as positively indecent. At the same time, with great gentleness, he prised the lamp out of her hands. "Tell you later, when you're all rescued, like."

"All right," Molly said. She seemed half-dazed. "We gonna rescue Annabelle too? Poor cow can't manage on her own."

Spike was steering her in the direction of the door, a hand on her shoulder. "'Course we are. No man left behind, yeah?" 

Giles watched Griffiths watching this display, and realised that the man was thinking the exact same thing he was. They'd just witnessed Spike's hunting technique in action. 

Giles shuddered. Any other time, any other vampire, and Molly would be dead. As it was, he supposed they should be grateful that getting a soul hadn't made Spike lose his touch.

Griffiths led the way further down the corridor and unlocked another door, to reveal what at first seemed an empty room. 

"Norah?" Giles made to cross the threshold, but again, Spike elbowed past him, Molly in tow.

"S'all right, Norah, love," he called. "S'me - Spike."

At once, a small, dark haired figure shot out from its hiding place behind the door, and flung itself into Spike's arms. 

"Spike!"

"S'okay, love. S'okay." Spike crouched down, holding Norah while she sobbed, Molly hovering uncertainly over them both.

Again, Giles exchanged looks with Griffiths. Griffiths' lips were thin. He didn't like what he was seeing at all.

Giles wasn't sure he liked it either, and not just because of the danger Spike posed to the girls if the trigger were activated. 

No, Giles had to admit, he didn't like it because it reminded him of Buffy, and where succumbing to Spike's dubious charms had led her. 

_And what about you, you idiot?_ a small voice seemed to whisper in Giles's ears. _How are you any better? You had sex with that thing. You fucked it, even though you knew what it was capable of.... what it had done to Buffy._

Giles shuddered. Not here! Not now!

He glanced over his shoulder into the empty corridor, almost expecting to see Jenny standing there, the hurt plain in her eyes, or maybe Ms Harkness, rebuking him for his folly, or even Radley fussing with his bowtie. But there was nothing. All the same, he had a sense of being watched.

Filled with unease, he turned back to find Spike and Norah on their feet. Norah's nose was red and she was wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Her colour wasn't good in general. Her olive skin had a sickly, greyish cast.

Just how much of the poor girl's blood had they taken, in order to speed Spike's recovery? 

From the sour look on Griffiths' face, Giles suspected he was asking himself the same thing.

"Where's Mr Robson?" Norah said, in a wavering voice. "I'm not leaving without him."

Giles refrained from giving Griffiths an I-told-you-so look, but it was very tempting. 

"This way," Griffiths said, in a tight voice. "And hurry. We still have to pick up the third girl and get out of here before we're missed."

He led them back to the main corridor, up it for some way and then off to the right down another side passage. The emergency lights seemed to have failed in this one, and Robson's room was at the far end, where it was darkest. 

More and more, it felt like Travers had wanted Robson both out of mind and out of sight. Dumped like so much rubbish. 

Griffiths fumbled the door open, and stale air exhaled into the corridor with an almost audible sigh. The room was even more sparsely furnished than Molly's and Norah's, containing nothing but a single bed made up with grey, army-issue blankets, on which a still form lay, and a chipped sink with a dripping tap. There was no natural light, just a dim naked bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Robson's small knapsack with his overnight things had been thrown unceremoniously into one corner. The contents were spilling out of it in a trail across the floor. A tube of toothpaste was crushed into the carpet, as if someone had trodden on it.

Whatever had happened in here, Giles was sure, Robson hadn't gone down without a fight.

"Mr Robson!" Norah wailed. She made to rush forward, but Griffiths put an arm in front of her, barring her way.

"Best not, miss."

"Robson?" Giles had already pushed past Griffiths into the room. Behind him, he heard Spike say to Norah,

"S'okay, love. He's alive. Heart's beatin' nice an' regular." 

Robson lay on his back, arms at his sides, the covers pulled up to his midriff. He appeared to be fully clothed, save for his shoes, which were placed neatly, side by side, under the bed. His eyes were closed, his face pasty. His mouth hung open and he was snoring - loud, stertorous breaths that seemed to catch in the back of his throat.

"Charles! It's me - Rupert." Giles shook him, but there was no response, except for a slight pause in the snoring. 

"It's useless," Griffiths said. "De Souza has him drugged to the eyeballs. He'll have to be carried, like I said."

_De Souza?_ Giles grimaced. He hoped Robson never found out what his former lover had done to him. "Spike, if you please?" He beckoned Spike forward.

"A minute!" Spike muttered. He'd been going through Robson's knapsack and had one arm in the sleeve of a crumpled blue shirt, which Giles could remember seeing Robson wearing, somewhat less crumpled and with a rather natty tie. 

"Said I was cold." Spike glared at Giles over his shoulder, as if Giles had forbidden the loan. "Anyway, his stuff'll fit me better than yours will."

The shirt buttoned, he began rummaging in the knapsack again. "Bloke must have some spare socks in here somewhere."

"Either we go now, or we don't go at all," Griffiths said, suddenly. He began to back out of the room, herding Molly and Norah with him. "I can't wait any longer."

"All right, all right! I'll look later." Spike stopped his rummaging, slung the knapsack onto his back and jammed his bare feet into Robson's discarded shoes.

A moment later, he had Robson's unconscious form draped across one shoulder in a fireman's carry, and they were retreating back down the corridor at a jog.

*

Giles was glad to leave the Annexe behind. It had felt like a place for the Watchers' Council to bury the dirtiest of its dirty secrets.

Robson and the girls could have died locked away in there, and no one would ever have known. 

They'd come back into the main part of the building on the first floor, through the same door into the Annexe that Giles had tried in vain to open on the night when he'd had his disturbing conversation with De Souza. 

It would be broad daylight outside by this time, but the building was hushed, as if everyone was still sleeping. The very opposite was true, of course. Travers and the senior staff would be in the basement War Room, junior Watchers confined to quarters awaiting further instruction. Meanwhile, armed operatives - Griffiths' men - would be on guard at key points in the building. 

"Quiet!" Griffiths hissed at Spike, who'd been exchanging some drollery with Molly and Norah. Spike rolled his eyes, but complied.

Griffiths had brought them to a halt near a corner, where the corridor leading from the main building to the Annexe turned left towards Giles's own room, and - presumably- Annabelle's. His cold gaze raked over them all, daring anyone to speak.

"There are two guards on the girl's door," Griffiths said. "You stay here. I'll deal with them."

"What..." Giles began, but Griffiths was already gone. They listened to his steady tread receding down the corridor. At last, it halted and there was the sound of distant conversation. Giles glanced at Spike. Unlike the rest of them, Spike could hear what was being said.

Molly broke the uneasy quiet, to whisper, "I don't like that spy bloke. He's well scary. What's he gonna do?"

Whatever it takes, Giles thought, and sure enough, a moment later there was a sudden sharp exclamation, quickly muffled, followed by the sounds of a struggle. That didn't last long either. The ensuing silence seemed even more oppressive. 

Spike's face was grim when Giles looked at him again, but with Molly and Norah hanging on their every word, it wasn't the time to discuss the incident. 

And not just Molly and Norah, because a moment later, Annabelle ran around the corner, swerved to avoid Giles, and stopped short in front of Molly. Giles had the sense that Annabelle would have hugged the other girl if she'd dared. Instead, she contented herself with saying,

"Did they take your phone away, Molly, 'cos I tried phoning and you didn't answer?"

Molly looked sour. "Yeah - bastards." She hunched her shoulders. "You all right, then?"

Annabelle nodded. "You?"

Molly shrugged. "M'okay. Wish I hadn't listened to _him_ , though" - and she pointed at Robson's dangling head - "an' just bloody stayed in Hastings."

Annabelle's mouth fell open in shock at the sight of Robson, then closed abruptly when she registered Giles's presence. She took a step back.

"What's _he_ doing here? Where are they taking us?" She'd noticed Spike for the first time too. "Who's that man? Why's he carrying Mr Robson?"

"He's not a man," Norah cut in. "He's a-"

Before she could say any more, Griffiths came around the corner, so suddenly all three girls jumped. His eyes raked over them, coldly dispassionate. 

"Quiet." 

The word was softly spoken, but the girls fell silent at once, staring at Griffiths with scared faces.

Giles didn't blame them. He was beginning to wish that he'd told the man to go to hell and taken his chances with Travers. Travers might be a fool, and a dangerous one at that, but at least it was possible to second guess him.

With Griffiths, Giles had no idea.

"The tunnel is two flights down," Griffiths was saying. "Follow me, and keep moving whatever happens."

"Tunnel?" Giles put his hand on Griffiths' arm. "What tunnel? What are you talking about?"

Griffiths managed to convey the fact that Giles was lucky not to lose the hand without his expression changing at all. Giles let go of him.

"Didn't you know about it?" Griffiths said. "Dates from the Twenties, so I was told. It connects the building to Russell Square tube station. Emergency exit in case of a frontal assault." 

"No," Giles had to admit. "I didn't know."

Yet more evidence, if any were needed, that the Watchers' Council regarded him as unreliable.

So unreliable, apparently, he thought, bitterly, that his death in this putative frontal assault was preferable to letting him know of the existence of a secret bolt hole.

_Thirty years' service, and no one ever mentioned it to me. No one._

Griffiths' gaze was unsympathetic, as it slid from Giles to Spike and back again. 

"Just as well for your vampire it's there," he said, "or he'd have to stay here or fry. Let's go."

He headed in the direction of the back stairs, not once glancing round to see if they were following him. Annabelle and Molly looked at each other, but their feet were already moving. 

"Spike?" Norah said, in a small voice. She hung close to him, and Giles realised she was holding one of Robson's limp hands in hers.

Spike shrugged. "Don't think we've got much choice, love. Not if we wanna get out of here." He shifted Robson's body on his shoulder and set off after Griffiths. "Wish the bastard'd slow down enough for me to put some bloody socks on. Gonna get blisters at this rate."

Giles brought up the rear. As he stepped around the corner, he glanced left, towards the door of Annabelle's room. It was open, and when Giles craned his neck, he could just see a foot in a black military boot that must belong to someone lying on the floor.

"He stabbed one of them," Spike said, in Giles's ear, startling him. "Right through the heart. Then, once he'd got the girl out of the room, he broke the other one's neck. Talk about licensed to kill. Hope you know what you're doing, Giles." 

"Christ!" Giles stopped in his tracks. For a moment, he considered turning back, but Spike, with Norah in tow, had already gone past him. Besides, it would have meant abandoning Molly and Annabelle. There was nothing to do but keep going.

*

They caught up with Griffiths and the two girls on the ground floor, in the dim back hallway that led, in one direction, to the cafeteria, in the other to the library. Molly and Annabelle were white-faced and trembling. Annabelle was trying to grab Molly’s arm, and Molly’s attempts to shrug her off were half-hearted at best.

"What's the matter?" Giles asked them, but then his eye was caught by something lying in the shadows at the bottom of the staircase. He peered closer. It was a body - a third Council operative, and from the angle of the neck...

Griffiths was heading in the direction of the library and beyond that, the stairs to the basement. "This way." 

Giles hurried after him, made to grab his arm again, then let his hand drop. "No more killing. It's disgusting - appalling. These are men doing their job, that's all."

Griffiths just looked at him stone-faced, as if the cold-blooded murder of three men signified nothing. "So am I." 

Giles hesitated again. There still seemed no option but to follow Griffiths, but somehow - he had no idea how - he had to find a way to wrest control of the situation from him. 

There was no way he was handing himself, Robson and the girls, let alone Spike with all the dangers he posed, over to people who could order such atrocities.

"Bloke's a regular killing machine," Spike muttered, as they hurried after Griffiths, and Giles found himself nodding in agreement. He hoped against hope that they encountered no more opposition. It was just possible that Travers was too preoccupied with the fallout from the awful events at Upper Slaughter to have realised yet that anything was wrong. 

He would expect Griffiths to be absent performing his security duties, wouldn't he? Not to mention he'd banned Giles from his presence. 

Giles glanced back over his shoulder, to see Spike jogging after him, Robson's head jiggling up and down rather alarmingly at his back. Norah was still glued to Spike's side, but Molly and Annabelle were trailing some way behind. 

Giles couldn't blame them. He paused outside the door of the library to let them catch up, then yelped and leapt clear as the door opened, and he found himself face to face with Lydia Chalmers.

*

Lydia opened her mouth - whether to speak or scream, Giles had no idea. With a wild glance in Griffiths' direction, he grabbed her arm with one hand, put his other hand over her mouth and bundled her back through the library doors. The armful of books she'd been carrying slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor with a sickening crack of broken spines.

Giles had been afraid that, despite the lockdown, the room would be full of junior Watchers conducting research, but thankfully, apart from himself and Lydia, it was empty. The blinds were pulled down at the windows, the room lit only by the dim white squares of blocked-out daylight. The door to Radley's little office behind the librarian's desk was shut and the office itself was dark.

Lydia pushed Giles suddenly, sending him staggering into the nearest reading table, but when she tried to get around him and make a break for the door, Giles threw himself in her way again.

"Don't!" he hissed, urgently. "He'll kill you."

Lydia backed away from him. Her glasses were slipping down her nose. "Who will?"

At that moment, the door opened again and Spike put his head around it. "You all right, Giles?"

Lydia gasped. "It's loose! Who let it loose?"

But then Griffiths shouldered Spike out of the way. His cold gaze went from Giles to Lydia and back again. Giles could almost see him working out which was the quickest, most efficient way to kill her.

"What on earth is going on?" Lydia exclaimed. "Mr Griffiths, explain yourself."

Giles took a pace forward, putting himself between Griffiths and Lydia. "It's obvious, I would've thought."

Lydia set her glasses straight. "Not to me." Her eyes narrowed. "Does Mr Travers know that vampire is roaming free around the building?"

"I'm right here, you know," Spike protested. The doors swung open and closed again as he came fully into the room, the three girls trailing him.

"Step aside," Griffiths said, to Giles, in a murmur. But Giles stayed put. Lydia, meanwhile, looked from the huddled trio of Molly, Annabelle and Norah, to Spike, in his ill-fitting shirt, and no socks on his feet, and with Robson's body draped over his shoulder, to Griffiths, and back to Giles. A sort of shudder ran through her body. 

"Oh, of course," she said, suddenly, in a stilted tone. "Mr Travers has ordered you to take our three remaining Potential Slayers into protective custody, hasn't he, Mr Griffiths? And the vampire too, I assume? Very sensible. It wouldn't do at all for it to fall into the enemy's hands."

There was a pause. Then Giles said, hurriedly, "That's absolutely right, Ms Chalmers." He turned and looked Griffiths in the eye. "Isn't it, Griffiths?"

Griffiths said nothing. 

"Because of course," Lydia went on, babbling somewhat now, "after the appalling events of last night, Mr Travers understands this building could be compromised at any time. Wise move, not keeping all your eggs in one basket."

"Yeah," Spike muttered, behind Giles. "That Travers bloke's just full of bright ideas."

"I expect you'll be leaving by the tunnel in the basement, won't you?" Lydia went on, in the same stilted tone. "Has Mr Travers given you the details of the counter-spell to open the door? So inconvenient, how they lock themselves when the general alarm goes off."

"As a matter of fact..." Giles began, but Lydia interrupted him. 

"But if he forgot, it's understandable. He has a lot on his mind. Allow me." 

She brought a small notebook and a slim, silver pencil out of her jacket pocket, opened the notebook and began to write. 

"Fortunately, the counter-spell can be spoken by anyone," she said, as she wrote. "Mr Travers thought it too dangerous to make it person-specific, in case he should come to some harm, leaving everyone trapped in the building. He's always prepared for every eventuality."

"Very...astute," Giles said. By 'everyone', he supposed Lydia meant Travers' personal favourites. Lesser mortals, no doubt, were as ignorant of the tunnel's existence as he was. 

But to give her the benefit of the doubt, perhaps Lydia didn't know that.

He glanced at Griffiths again while Lydia wrote. No clue from the man's face what he was thinking.  
One could only hope that he would rather not kill her if he didn't have to.

As for Lydia herself, Giles could only guess that her motives for helping him must be bound up with the obvious discomfort he'd seen on her face the previous night, when Griffiths had marched Annabelle from this very room and into solitary confinement. Other than that, her loyalty to Travers had seemed absolute.

Unless this was a trap, of course. 

"Here." Lydia handed Giles the scrap of paper. Her eyes met his as she did so, and she gave his hand a brief squeeze.

Not a trap, then.

"Thank you," Giles said. He didn't know what else to say.

As he turned to go, Lydia exclaimed, "Wait!" She reached into her other pocket and drew something out. 

At once Griffiths tensed, and the three girls huddled closer together, eyes fixed on him in terror.

"Please don't," Annabelle begged, while a low growl erupted from Spike's throat.

Griffiths ignored them all. 

Lydia, meanwhile, hardly blinked. "No need for alarm, Mr Griffiths, I assure you. I just wanted to give Mr Giles this." 

As she spoke, she opened her clenched fist and dropped a tiny, polished stone into Giles's open palm. "The Prokaryote Stone. You'll need this if you're ever to disable that trigger." Her eyes looked past Giles to where Spike stood, and she gave him an almost imperceptible nod. 

Spike frowned. "Appreciate the thought an' all, love, but..."

"Be quiet, Spike," Giles snapped. "Thank you," he said again, to Lydia. "And the incantation?"

Lydia adjusted her glasses again. "You'll find it in Bay's _Book of the Dead_ , second row, third shelf, which coincidentally happens to be right next to _Demons of the Primordium_ , our main source of information on the First. It's a copy, of course. Not the original, which is kept under lock and key." 

She straightened her jacket. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I came out of a very important meeting to gather research materials. I must be getting back to Mr Travers, before he sends out a search party." 

She bent down, gathered up the armful of fallen books, and, not looking to right or left, walked briskly to the door. Giles tensed as she went past Griffiths, but Griffiths watched her go by with no change to his usual, stoical expression. 

At the door, Lydia paused again and looked back, her gaze taking them all in. "I want you to know that I am one hundred per cent loyal to Mr Travers," she said, primly. "Given the opportunity to reflect, he would have acted the exact same way, were he here. I am sure of it." 

Her eyes fixed on Giles. "When you see the Slayer, tell her we're relying on her."

The door swung to behind her. 

Griffiths frowned. "This is a mistake."

"No." Giles slipped the Prokaryote Stone into his pocket and headed for the bookshelves Lydia had indicated. "It's not."

"If she raises the alarm..." Griffiths began behind him, but Spike interrupted this time.

"She won't. She meant every word. Can tell from her heartbeat. She was trying to help us, all right? Makin' up for the sins of her boss."

As Giles reached the bookshelves, he saw Griffiths give Spike a sceptical look.

But Griffiths didn't argue. Instead, he looked at his watch. "Six thirty. We have to get out of here."

"On a schedule, are you?" Spike sneered, but Griffiths didn't reply. 

"What are you doing?" he called, to Giles.

Giles had located the two titles Lydia had mentioned. He lifted them down from the shelf. _Demons of the Primordium_ in particular was very heavy. The cover had an unpleasant, scaly feel - probably demon skin.

Giles grimaced and tucked it under his arm. He stared along the rows of shelves, overwhelmed yet again by the weight of irreplaceable esoteric knowledge they carried. If only he could take all of them.

With a sigh, he turned to go back to the others, but as he did so, the corner of his eye registered movement, as if someone had been standing watching him at the end of the row of shelves and had ducked out of sight into the next aisle. 

The familiar chill snaked its way down Giles's spine. He'd only caught a glimpse, but he was sure it had been Radley, or possibly Ms Harkness - a tall, thin figure with gleaming glasses. 

For a moment, the room seemed full of whispering, voices just on the edge of hearing. For a heart-stopping moment, Giles thought he heard Jenny's among them. He held his breath. If that wretched singing started up now...

But the whispering faded away into dusty silence, until it was broken by Griffiths calling, "What are you doing back there?" 

Books clutched to his chest, Giles hurried back to the others. Spike had laid Robson's body on the librarian's counter, he saw, and upended the contents of the knapsack all over the floor. He was sitting at one of the desks pulling on a pair of black woollen socks. Griffiths, meanwhile, looking twitchy for him, seemed torn between staying near the girls to make sure they didn't bolt, and coming to roust Giles out of the bookstack.

He frowned when he saw the books in Giles's arms. "What do you want those for? They're heavy. They'll only slow us down."

They were heavy, it was true. Giles snatched the empty knapsack out of Spike's hands and stuffed the books into it. "The information they contain is priceless," he said as he swung it onto his back. "We need them."

Griffiths' frown grew deeper, but he didn't argue, just herded the three girls back towards the library door. "Get a move on."

"All right, all right!" Spike hoisted Robson back over his shoulder and followed him, and Giles brought up the rear.

Back in the corridor, Griffiths led them to the basement stairs and began to hurry down it, the girls and Spike close behind him.

Giles set his hand on the metal stair rail. At once, he felt a strange sensation in the palm of his hand - a sort of buzz, as if the metal were vibrating. Was it another earth tremor? Unnerved, he stopped. 

Griffiths was right when he'd said that, because of Spike, their only option in daylight hours was to exit the building by this basement access tunnel - which, yes, it still grated with Giles that Griffiths had known about and he hadn't-but...

....under the ground was the First's domain.

Giles opened his mouth to call the others back, but then he closed it again. Short of waiting for nightfall, or abandoning Spike to Travers, there really was no other option. 

Taking a firmer grip on the straps of the knapsack, Giles started downwards.

*

At the bottom of the stairs, corridors snaked off in both directions, lit only by a row of dim, emergency lights, which did little to alleviate the gloom. The air was still and dusty.

It was very quiet, except for the occasional raised voice coming from the direction of the war room, which was some distance down the right-hand corridor. 

Giles could imagine the scene within - the long oak table, with its rows of high-backed chairs, one for each senior Watcher on the premises, and a much grander one at the head for Travers. What were they talking about, Giles wondered. After the terrible events of last night, had anyone dared challenge Travers' authority? Probably not, and even if they had, the damage was already done. 

"This way." Griffiths led them down the left-hand corridor, following the route that Giles had taken when he'd come down here - was it only a few days ago? - trying to discover what had become of Spike.

They were walking the way Giles had run. Soon, they were passing the row of holding cells. As they came to the one where Spike had been confined, Giles saw that the metal gurneys and their associated medical equipment were still _in situ_. He shuddered and glanced at Norah, but of course she would have no memory of what had been done to her in there.

Moments later, Griffiths motioned them to silence again. They were approaching another room, from the open door of which light spilled out into the corridor, along with the crackling of radio static. 

The basement security post. Giles realised it too late to even try to stop Griffiths from killing some other poor soul simply going about its business. 

But the room was deserted. No one sat at the desk watching the banked rows of monitors. On one screen, the bodies of the two men Griffiths had killed outside Annabelle's room could be plainly seen, still lying undiscovered. 

Of course, Giles thought. This was Griffiths' command post. Watching over the Watchers. Travers probably thought he'd been here all this time. 

Griffiths had taken a set of keys out of his pocket and opened a metal locker in the corner, from which he drew a heavy-looking army issue backpack. He swung it onto his shoulders and fastened it securely. Giles eyed it with suspicion. He had a nasty feeling the contents were as deadly as Griffiths himself.

Suddenly, there was a loud burst of static from a microphone on the desk, and a man's voice speaking in urgent tones, "Benson to Commander Griffiths. Two men down. Over. I repeat, two men down. Over."

On the monitor that showed the upstairs corridor, two of Griffiths' men could now be seen outside Annabelle's room, one standing, walkie-talkie in hand, the other kneeling by the bodies. 

Griffiths frowned. Seating himself at the desk, he spoke into the microphone. 

"This is Commander Griffiths. What is the status of the prisoner? Over."

"The prisoner is missing," Benson's voice came back. "Repeat, the prisoner is missing. What are your orders, commander? Over."

"Secure the area," Griffiths snapped. "I repeat, secure the area. I'm on my way up. Over and out."

He stood up, then bent down and yanked open the metal panelling under the desk. A moment later, the air was filled with the smell of burnt plastic and all the monitor screens went dark. 

Without a word, Griffiths led them back out into the corridor, past several closed metal doors, which looked like further holding cells, then stopped again in front of one no different to any of the others. Taking his set of keys from his pocket, he unlocked the door and yanked downwards hard on the handle.

The door didn't budge.

Griffiths tried again, but with the same lack of success.

"Open it!" he snapped at Giles, looking ruffled at last. "Magic -" he said the word with pursed lips and flared nostrils - "is not my area of expertise."

Giles was taken aback at Griffiths' evident disgust. It seemed, until this moment, he hadn't believed - or hadn't wanted to believe -Lydia's statement about the door being spelled shut. 

Surely, Giles thought, he must have witnessed things during his assignment to the Watchers' Council that had made him realise there were indeed more things in heaven and earth, to coin a phrase? He seemed accepting enough of the existence of vampires, for instance.

But vampires were physical beings, of course. What's more, you could kill them. Easier to grasp, perhaps, than the rather airy-fairy concept of magic.

"What are you waiting for?" Griffiths said, suddenly, and Giles jerked out of his reverie. He brought the scrap of paper with the counter-spell out of his pocket and set his palm to the cool metal surface of the door.

At once, he felt the familiar tingle of magic in his fingertips, like pinpricks in the skin. 

"Hurry up," Griffiths said, at his shoulder. 

"I'm going as fast as I can." Hand still pressed to the door, Giles began to speak the incantation, each word like a blow, battering against the barrier of the spell. He felt the moment when it began to soften and yield, like metal turned molten. A moment later, the spell gave way in a burst of blue light, which made Giles throw up his arm - too late- to shield his eyes, and left a smell of sulphur in the air. 

"Fucking hell!" Molly said, coughing and waving her hand in front of her eyes. "What just happened?"

"Magic," Spike growled. "Bloody stinks, doesn't it? More even than usual."

Giles sagged against the wall, feeling dizzy, while stars danced in front of his eyes. Griffiths yanked on the door handle again, and this time the door swung open, to reveal a long passageway with cream-tiled walls and a low, curved ceiling, like an Underground station. Once again, it was lit only by emergency lighting and snaked away into darkness - on and on, as if there were no end to it. Chill air blew out into their faces. 

There was a short silence. Then, Annabelle said, "I don't like it. It's creepy."

Her words bounced off the tunnel walls and seemed to catch in the curve of the ceiling, which echoed them back, amplified. Annabelle winced and shrank closer to Molly, who elbowed her away.

"Stop pushin' me, you!"

"Sorry," Annabelle whispered, but she stayed close to Molly.

"Quiet, all of you!" Griffiths hissed, and again there was instant silence.

Griffiths had taken off his backpack and was rummaging in one of the many zip pockets. 

"Here." He handed a small torch to Giles. "Just in case." 

"In case of what?" 

Giles was still seeing stars. With an effort, he pushed himself upright, but at that moment, the ground under his feet began to shake - hard enough to throw him off balance. He caught himself against the wall, which was vibrating like a drum skin.

"It's an earthquake!" Norah let out a shriek, which she tried to muffle by a hand over her mouth. Annabelle and Molly clutched each other, until Molly appeared to realise what she was doing and pushed Annabelle away. 

"Can't be," Spike said, quickly. "Not in London." He turned on Griffiths. "What the bloody hell was that?" 

Griffiths had switched on another torch. The glow lit the underside of his face, and cast the upper part into shadow, from which his eyes glittered coldly. 

"It's just the Underground," he snapped. "The Piccadilly line passes right underneath the building. Get inside, and hurry."

"Giles?" Spike raised an eyebrow at him.

Giles stared down the tunnel. He didn’t like the look of it at all, but how long till Griffiths' man Benson realised his commander wasn't coming? Surely it couldn't be long. And soon after that, Travers would know everything.

"We've no choice," he said, and he stepped over the threshold. Spike hesitated a moment, but then he shrugged. 

"Always did say I belonged down here in the dark." 

The loaded words raised the short hairs on Giles's neck. "Wait..." he began, but yet again it was too late. Griffiths had herded the three girls in front of him into the mouth of the tunnel and slammed the door shut behind them. At once, the darkness closed in, licking at the small circles of blue light under each emergency bulb, like a hungry beast prowling at the edge of a campfire.

Pushing past Giles, Griffiths set off, walking fast, and, at the sight of the bobbing torchlight rapidly diminishing, Annabelle and Molly hurried after him. They might be scared of him, but it seemed they were even more scared of the darkness.

"The Underground, my arse!" Spike muttered, at their departing backs. "Sounded like drilling to me."

"You're sure?" Giles set his hand to the wall again. This time, he felt nothing.

Spike shrugged. He took a firmer grip on Robson's body, while his eyes bored into Giles's. "Not sure of anything any more. Least of all you."

"Spike..." Giles began, but Spike had already turned his back.

With a sigh, Giles switched on his own torch and made to follow, but Norah stepped in his way.

"Where's he taking us?" she asked, in a whisper.

Giles glanced down the tunnel, to see that Spike had stopped again and was waiting for them. Meanwhile, the torchlight flickered in the distance, then disappeared abruptly as Griffiths went round a corner. 

"He works for MI5." Giles tried to smile at the girl. "He won't hurt you, Norah. He's taking you to a safe place."

Norah didn't smile back. "That's what you said about where we've just come from - that it was safe. It wasn't." She shivered. "And what about Mr Robson and Spike? Will he hurt them? Or you," she added, as an afterthought. "He killed those other men, didn't he? He might kill you too."

Spike had come back to join them. He'd gone into vampire face, Giles realised, the better to see in the dark. The torchlight made a golden lion's mask of his features.

"Yeah," Spike said. "Been wondering about that myself. Bloke doesn't seem too keen on Watchers."   
The yellow eyes blinked slowly, catlike. "Don't think he likes vampires much either. Can’t blame him for that, I s’pose."

"You're right on both counts," Giles admitted. He began to walk, trying to draw them with him. It wouldn't do to let Griffiths get too far ahead. "But he offered us a way out - all of us, including you, Spike, against his better judgement. In the circumstances, I couldn't see any other course of action available. In fact, I still don't."

"But why did you bring us here to start with?" Norah persisted. "Why did you shoot Spike? He saved me from those men with no eyes. I don't understand." Her voice wavered and broke. 

"I want to go home," she said, in a small voice. "And I can't, can I? Not ever."

Giles felt a pang of guilt. What had happened to her was his fault, and no amount of telling himself that he'd had no choice would change that. 

He tried to sound a note of optimism, for her sake. "Of course you can go home. Not until our enemy is dealt with, but after that..."

Norah shook her head. " _He_ won't let us. Or MI5 won't. They think the men with no eyes will kill the Slayer, don't they, and that one of us- me, or Molly, or Annabelle - might be the next one."

"That's..." Giles began, but choked as one hand, heavily clawed, grabbed him by the throat.   
Spike's heavy brow ridges were drawn down, his yellow eyes narrowed to angry slits. "You right bastard." 

But then he let Giles go with a yelp of pain. "I barely touched him," he complained, to the empty air above his head.

The cool, detached part of Giles's brain was relieved to have proof - finally! - that the chip did indeed still work. But Norah was right, of course. That _was_ the thinking behind Griffiths' actions. Giles had always known it. Hearing the words from Norah's mouth made the calculated coldness of it seem even worse.

He cleared his throat. Spike's stranglehold - no matter how brief - had been painful.

"You're wrong, Spike. Dead wrong, if you think I would be complicit in such a scheme. The only thing I've done during this whole sorry mess -including bringing you all to Watchers' HQ - that wasn't to try and protect Buffy and save the Slayer line - the only thing I regret, because it was selfish and stupid - was..."

Giles let the words hang. _Having sex with you_ , he thought. But he couldn't say it aloud. Not in front of Norah, whose eyes went from Spike to him and back again, full of fear and doubt.

In any case, it seemed Spike had understood him. His vampire face, eerie and alien, set hard, like stone.

"S'okay," he said. "I get the message." He put a hand on Norah's shoulder to steer her after the others. "Come on, love. Can still smell 'em in front of us, but we'd better get a move on. Don't wanna let 'em get too far ahead."

But Norah shrank from his touch. The sudden violence seemed to have upset her. Her eyes went from Giles to Spike and back again, and her mouth had set into a stubborn line.

“Not until you explain. Not until you _tell_ me!” Her voice rose to a wail.

Spike shrugged. "Dunno about the other stuff, but I do know Mr Giles, here, had a bloody good reason for shooting me. 'Sides, I'm fine now." 

Norah stared at him, eyes huge. "I don’t understand,” she said, again.

Spike frowned. “S’like this-“

“Wait!” Giles cut in, past the pain in his throat. This really wasn’t the time or place. In fact, Spike’s timing could hardly be worse.

But Spike only glared at him. 

"Stop pussy-footin' around the kid. I keep tellin' you, she's a potential Slayer. She can take it. Fact is, love," he said to Norah, "our enemy - whatever it is - has got its claws in me. I keep blackin' out, an' when I come round I've...well, I've done stuff."

Norah's face, in the gloom, was washed out and pale, her dark eyes deeply smudged. "What stuff?" 

Spike hesitated, and Giles realised he regretted starting the conversation. He raised an eyebrow at him. Too late to stop now.

"It wanted me to kill you," Spike blurted out, all in a rush. "I would have. But Giles, here, snapped me out of it. That's why he shot me. Because he couldn't be certain I wouldn't do it again."

“But you saved me," Norah insisted. “You told me not to look.”

Spike looked more and more uncomfortable. "Yeah, after I came out of my...whatever it was." 

Very earnest suddenly, he shook his vampire face away. "Look, love, I'm not tellin' you this to scare you. I'm tellin' you because you have a right to know. I wouldn't hurt you for the world, but...you can't trust me. Not completely."

Norah's shoulders slumped. For a moment, it looked like she might cry. But then she said, softly, "I wish Mr Robson would wake up." 

Spike shifted Robson's body on his shoulder. "Yeah, you and me both. Bloke weighs a bloody ton."

Norah gave him a shaky smile, but Giles could see she was very rattled. 

"We really had better catch up with the others,” he said, quickly. 

"Yeah, ‘spose." Spike shook his head again, and sulphur-yellow eyes glared back into Giles's. "You still got that gun?"

Giles shook his head. "Unfortunately not."

"Pity."

They began to walk, but this time, Norah hung back, much nearer to Giles than to Spike.

*

The moment they rounded the corner, Giles knew there was something badly wrong.

Ahead of them the corridor snaked away into darkness. There was no sign of Griffiths and the other two girls - no torchlight save their own flickering on the walls - no footsteps. They were gone, as if the dark had swallowed them whole.

"Where are they?" Norah wailed, then put her hand over her mouth again, as the curved ceiling and tiled walls picked up the sound and amplified it once more. As the echoes faded, Giles thought he could hear distant voices again, like muffled laughter. 

Or singing.

His blood ran cold.

_Not that. Not now_.

"Wait." Giles put his hand on Spike's arm. 

Spike had been sniffing the air. He shook Giles's grip off, and for a heart-stopping moment Giles thought it might already be too late. He pushed himself between Spike and Norah. If he could hold Spike off for long enough, maybe she had a chance.

Spike was still in vamp face. He looked irritable, but there was no sign of the eerie calm that had heralded his previous 'episodes.' He glared at Giles. "What're you lookin' at me like that for?"

A little annoyed himself, Giles glared back. "Just making sure you haven't been listening to certain...songs, Spike. That's all."

"Oh. That." Spike sniffed again. "Huh."

"What is it?" Giles was careful to keep himself between Spike and Norah. 

Spike shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing at all. In fact, that's the sodding problem. Scent's gone suddenly. It just…stops right where we’re standing. S'like they disappeared into thin air."

At the ominous words, Giles’s heart missed a beat. He shone his torch into the darkness and saw, a little way ahead, a black opening in the right hand wall of the tunnel. Giles frowned. What on earth...?

When they reached the opening, he shone the torch into it. The beam picked out the walls and floor of a side passage, completely unlit, like a mouth leading down into darkness. "What is this doing here?" 

His eyes met Spike’s. Behind his back, Giles was intensely aware of Norah hanging on their every word. 

"Well, that's just..." Spike began, but at that moment, the ground trembled again, and this time it was far more than just a feeling in the earth. 

Spike was right. It was the sound of drilling. 

What's more, it was coming from the new tunnel. 

Giles’s heart skipped another beat, then began to pound inside his chest. "Take Norah and go on," he said. "I'll investigate."

Spike's jaw dropped - not a pleasant sight, given his mouthful of gleaming fangs. 

"You're kidding, right?" 

Norah grabbed hold of Giles' sleeve, holding tight with clutching fingers. 

"No, please!" 

Giles disengaged her hand as gently as he could. "I don't need to tell you, Norah, I'm sure, that we shouldn't be hearing what we're hearing just now." He indicated the entrance to the side tunnel with a nod of his head. "Or seeing what we’re seeing. Someone needs to find out what's going on down there."

Norah shook her head vehemently. "Please don't go. It's something bad, I know it is."

That rather went without saying, Giles thought. He tried to smile at her. 

"Yes, it probably is. But you'll be safe with Spike."

"Will she?" Spike growled. "Weren't we just talking about how she can't trust me? You bugger off, and who the hell knows what might happen."

Giles opened his mouth to respond, though he had no idea what he was going to say, but Spike shook his head.

"We stay together," Spike insisted. "Sod whatever's goin' on down there. Some Watcher bollocks, probably. Let's get the kid out of here while we can."

Norah said nothing, but her eyes, huge and scared, clung to Giles. It was clear she couldn’t take much more.

"You're right," Giles agreed, reluctantly. 

Perhaps, he thought, once they were safely out of the building, he could contact Travers and inform him that there appeared to be unauthorised drilling taking place beneath it. 

_Devouring it_ , a voice inside his head insisted on adding. _From beneath_.

The drilling noise stopped abruptly. For a moment, the silence was complete - so complete, Giles thought he'd gone deaf. Then, the musty air was rent by distant screams.

"Help!" a voice cried. "Mr Griffiths - Molly! Where are you? Don't leave me!" 

It was Annabelle's voice, and it was coming from the side tunnel.

*

The torch beam wavered wildly as Giles ran. Annabelle's screams had sunk to terrified whimpers, just audible over the sound of their pounding feet.

"Don't hurt me." Annabelle's voice rose to a shriek again, echoing down the tunnel, which was more like an animal burrow, the floor bare earth, rather than concrete, clay-ey and clinging. "Don't hurt me! Please!"

Giles opened his mouth to call to her, but thought better of it. If there was someone else with her, or some _thing_ , best not to give it any warning.

The feeble torchlight showed a bend in the tunnel ahead. Around it, cold air, smelling of damp, rolled at them, like a wave, hinting at a bigger space beyond.

Giles stopped short, panting, then staggered as Spike barrelled into him from behind. Spike's eyes glowed sulphur-yellow in the gloom. 

"Why've you stopped?" he hissed.

"Because we don't know what we're facing," Giles hissed back. "Can you smell anything now?" 

Spike's nostrils flared wide as he inhaled. His heavy brow furrowed. "Not a damn thing. 'Cept this weird chemical smell, an' wossername." He indicated the bend ahead. "The posh kid."

"She's alone, then?"

Spike shrugged. "Seems like it."

Annabelle was sobbing brokenly now. "I'm not stupid. I'm not, I'm not."

Giles's skin crawled. There _was_ someone with Annabelle, he was sure - someone that Giles very much did not want anywhere near Spike. 

"Giles?" Spike hissed."Kid's crying. What're you waiting for?"

Giles wished he'd thrown caution to the winds long ago and told Spike exactly what they were facing. Too late now.

He led the way around the bend in the tunnel. On the far side of the curve, the beam of the torch revealed that it opened out into a vast cavern. How it could be here, right under Watchers' HQ, Giles had no idea.

The torchlight picked out Annabelle, crouched against one wall, hands over her face, shoulders shaking with sobs. The opposite wall was stacked high with boxes, one on top of another. Their outsides were blank, giving no clue to their contents. In the centre of the open space, a hole, like a black maw, led deeper into the earth. The wave of cold air, tainted with mould, blew out of it. 

"What the fuck?" Spike exclaimed. At the sound of his voice, Annabelle lifted her head. Giles had expected her to be glad to see them, but instead she shrank back against the wall. 

"It's a trick," she wailed. "You're not really here."

Her words confirmed Giles's worst fears. Hurrying forward, he set his hand on Annabelle's shoulder, though she tried to flinch away from him. 

"I assure you, Annabelle, we're very much here, and whatever it was you saw, it can't harm you."

Annabelle stared at him, gaze fixed on his face like a frightened rabbit trying to outstare a fox.   
Giles beckoned Spike and Norah over. Not the time and place he would have chosen to explain this to the two girls, but it couldn't be helped.

"Listen," he said, to Annabelle. "What you saw wasn't real. It may have looked it, but it wasn't. That's the way our enemy works. It takes on the semblance of the dead - those we've loved, those we've feared - and tries to get at us through them. But it has no physical presence. It can't touch you."

Annabelle's gaze still clung to his face, but she looked a little reassured. She _would_ believe him, of course, Giles thought. Trust in authority was in her nature. 

"Who did you see?" he asked, gently.

"My...my grandmother," Annabelle stuttered. "She never liked me. Always said I was stupid and worthless. I was glad when she died. She was horrible." 

She shivered. "She had this...thing with her - a monster with a bald head and big teeth, and ears like a bat. She had it on a lead, like a dog. She...she said it was a vampire and that one day soon she'd let it loose and it would kill me." 

Her gaze slid uneasily from Giles to Spike. "It had eyes like his -all yellow and staring. I've seen pictures. He's a vampire too, isn't he?"

"It's all right," Giles soothed. "He's not like the other vampires. He has a soul. He won't hurt you." _I hope_ , he thought. 

"A soul?" Annabelle said, looking curious despite herself. "Does that mean he doesn't drink blood?"

"Not human blood anyway," Giles assured her. He helped her to her feet. "Where're Molly and Mr Griffiths?"

"I don't know," Annabelle said. "We were together, but then the torch went out, and I couldn't see anything. I tried to grab hold of Molly but she wasn't anywhere. So I ran." 

"How did you end up here?" 

Annabelle shook her head. "I don't know. It was dark. I couldn't see anything. Then... _she_ came. She had her own light, like a sort of glow all round her. Then you found me. What's in those boxes?"

Giles shone the torch over the stack of boxes. Spike had wandered away from them and was standing in front of it, stock still, gazing upwards, head cocked as if listening. Giles felt a niggle of unease. 

He took a step forward. "Spike?"

Spike turned. He'd shaken off game face. He tilted his head, gazing at Giles out of sultry blue eyes. "Yeah? What?"

Giles swallowed hard past the lump of fear in his throat. "Spike, snap out of it."

The head tilt was now accompanied by a slight smirk. "Dunno what you mean, Rupert, old chum."

"Mr Giles," Annabelle wavered, the fear back in her voice. "What's going on?"

"Get back," Giles hissed at her. "Stay with Norah."

Annabelle didn't need telling twice. Scurrying over to where Norah stood, next to Robson's slumped body, she grabbed hold of her arm. "What's happening?"

Spike had tracked Annabelle's movements, like a predator tracking its prey. Suddenly, his head snapped around to the right, staring off into the darkness, as if he were looking at someone.

"What d'you want _now_?" he growled, at empty air. "I'll find the other one afterwards. Just shut the fuck up and let me get on with killin' these two, can't you?"

Giles took his chance. "Run!" he shouted at Norah and Annabelle. Then he put his head down and charged at Spike, knocking him backwards into the stack of boxes. 

Spike snarled like a wild animal, but the snarl was cut off abruptly as a toppling crate caught him a glancing blow on the head. He went down, buried in boxes, while Giles threw himself clear. 

The hard earth jolted every bone in his body as he hit it. Somehow, he managed to keep hold of the torch.

He was too bloody old for this, Giles thought, as he pushed himself up onto his knees. The knapsack of books on his back seemed to weigh a ton suddenly, and gaining his feet felt almost impossible, but it wouldn't take Spike long to recover and he had to be ready for him. 

Then the wavering torchlight settled on one of the boxes. It had split open when it fell, revealing the contents. Giles stared, aghast, as the torch beam revealed row after row of sticks of dynamite, all tumbled from their neat arrangement. No wonder Spike had smelt chemicals. 

If every box was the same...

What was going on here?

Fear drove him to his feet. At the same time, the fallen boxes were pushed aside and Spike emerged from underneath them. He stared around him in bewilderment.

"What the bloody hell just happened?" He rubbed his head. "Oww!"

Overwhelmed with relief, Giles offered him a hand and pulled him up. "You don't remember?"

Spike stared at him, aghast. "Fuck! Not again! Did I hurt anyone?"

"Thankfully," Giles told him, "no. It was a near thing, though." 

Spike looked at the two girls, who were crouched near Robson's body. Annabelle had her face in her hands again, and Norah was white as a sheet, eyes going from Spike to Giles and back again in terrified bewilderment. 

Spike grimaced. "Fuck!" he said, again. 

"Quite." Giles lowered his voice. "If we ever get out of here, Spike, you _will_ tell me everything you're not telling me, and you _will_ let me administer the Prokaryote Stone to you and get to the root of what's making you do this. Do. You. Understand?"

Spike ducked his head. "Yeah," he muttered. "I understand."

"Good." Giles shone the torch on the damaged box. "In the meantime, we have an even bigger problem."

"Bloody hell!" Spike's gaze went from the contents of the box to the stack of boxes behind them. "There's enough dynamite in here to blow up the whole fucking building."

"Agreed." Giles kept his voice low so the girls wouldn't hear. "We have to go back - assuming we can find the way. We have to warn them."

Spike's mouth dropped open. He shook his head vehemently. "No way. We go back, they'll never let us go again. I say we get the kiddies out of danger first, then warn your wanker mates."

"They're not my mates." Giles was exasperated suddenly. "But that doesn't mean they deserve to be blown to smithereens."

Spike shrugged. "You ask me, the world wouldn't miss that Travers bloke."

"That's not for you to judge," Giles snapped. "Besides, Travers isn't the only person in the building. Most of them are decent people, just trying to do the best job they can in very trying circumstances."

Spike gazed at him mutinously. Then he sighed. "'Spose you're right. An' it'd be a shame if that Lydia bint got blown to bits. Don't blame me, though, if they clap us both in irons." He grimaced. "S'pose I'm carryin' old Lardarse again."

But as he made towards Robson and the girls, Annabelle shrieked and even Norah glared at him. 

"Stay away!" she wavered, arms out to shield Robson from Spike. "Don't touch him."

Spike stopped. "Giles?" He threw a look of appeal Giles's way. "Say something."

Giles sighed. From one extreme to the other. Nothing was ever simple.

"It's all right," he told Norah. "He's himself again. You don't need to be scared."

"Oh, I think she has every right to be," said a voice behind them. 

Giles whirled. It was Griffiths, wearing a head torch, but minus the ominous backpack. He had a gun in one hand and a crossbow in the other. Deadly contents indeed.

The gun was aimed at Giles.

*

Griffiths looked different somehow - not jumpy exactly, but his usual composure was ruffled. Maybe he'd seen his own revenants somewhere in the darkness.

Giles watched him take in every detail of the cavern, from the stack of explosives to the huge hole in the floor, which looked as if it had been blasted open from beneath. 

"I inspect this tunnel every week," Griffiths bit out. "This wasn't here before."

"My guess is that it was," Giles said. "You probably walked right past it many times. Someone with considerable magical power -enough to fool a whole building full of Watchers - has been concealing it."

_Until now._

Griffiths' face twisted again at the mention of magic, as if he'd smelt something bad. 

"That's impossible."

Giles shook his head. "I'm afraid it's not."

He watched as Griffiths tried to digest this unpalatable fact. At last, Griffiths said, 

"This is the same someone behind all the murders." Not questioning, but stating a fact. 

Giles nodded. "And it's plain what they intend here. Travers and the others are in mortal danger. We have to go back - warn them."

Griffiths' arm, holding the gun, didn't waver. "No. I have my orders."

Giles gaped at him. "That's unconscionable. All that's needed is a detonator and the building will blow sky high."

Griffiths didn't even blink. "I told you Travers had become a liability."

"But it's not just Travers!" Giles protested.

Griffiths shook his head. "The decision's been made. My orders are clear: the Council of Watchers is no longer fit for purpose." He indicated the boxes of dynamite. "This just makes my job easier."

Turning to Norah and Annabelle, he said, "Come over here. We're leaving."

The two girls had risen to their feet.

"Where's Molly?" Annabelle said, at the same time as Norah said, "You can't leave all those people to die. In any case, I'm not leaving Mr Robson."

Griffiths gave her a cold look. "Robson's not important. None of them are. Only you."

"No." Norah's voice wobbled, but her expression was defiant. "Spike can carry Mr Robson, like he did before."

Griffiths shook his head. "The vampire's not coming any further. Neither is he." He indicated Giles with the gun. "I told you. They're not important. Now come here."

Norah's mouth set stubbornly. "I won't."

"You will." Griffiths' voice was ice-cold suddenly. The arm holding the gun swung in Norah's direction. "Otherwise, I'll shoot your Mr Robson right here and now."

"You bastard!" Spike took a step forward, and the gun swung around to Giles again.

"That's far enough," Griffiths snapped. "Unless you want a close-up view of what a bullet can do to a man's head."

Spike put himself between Giles and the gun. "Been shot in the head before. Do your bloody worst."

"No!" 

As Griffiths' finger tightened on the trigger, Giles pushed Spike out of the way. "There's no need for this. Go with him," he said, to Norah and Annabelle. 

"Giles..." Spike protested, but Giles shook his head. 

"You said yourself, Spike, that getting the girls out of here was what mattered most. Let him take them. At least they'll be safe." 

"Yeah, define 'safe,'" Spike muttered, but he stepped back. "You know he's gonna kill us anyway."

Giles said nothing. He had no intention of dying if he could help it, but just in case, it was still better if Annabelle and Norah were spared the sight. "Go on," he said to them, again.

Annabelle cast a nervous glance at Griffiths. "What about Molly?"

"She's down here somewhere," Griffiths said. "We'll find her."

That seemed to be enough to reassure Annabelle. "Come on," she said, to Norah, moving towards Griffiths. 

Norah cast a despairing glance at the unconscious Robson, then at Giles and Spike. Then, step by reluctant step, she followed Annabelle.

Giles kept his voice to a whisper. "When I say the word, move. He can't shoot all three of us at once." 

"Move where?" Spike hissed back. "There's nowhere to go, except....." He indicated the pit in the floor with a slight movement of his head. "Has to lead somewhere, I s'pose." 

As if his words had conjured it, there was a sudden blast of air out of the pit, sulphurous and foul, and so strong it almost lifted Giles off his feet. He staggered against Spike.

"What the...?"

At the same time, Griffiths snarled, "Stay back! I'm warning you!" There was an explosive crack-crack, and something whizzed over Giles's head, so close he felt the heat of it. 

"Get down!" 

Spike kicked Giles's feet from under him, and threw himself on top of him, shielding him with his body as another bullet hissed overhead. Giles risked a brief glance up - enough to see Griffths' face in the wildly dipping torchlight gone wild and white, all his composure lost, as he fired at nothingness.

"At this rate," Spike shouted, in Giles's ear, "he's gonna set off the fucking dynamite!"

A moment later, he was on his feet and charging towards Griffiths, bent low and zig-zagging.   
Griffiths seemed to come back to himself when he saw Spike approaching. His eyes widened, then he raised the loaded crossbow. 

"No!" Norah jumped on Griffiths' shoulders from behind, clinging on like a monkey when he tried to throw her off. The crossbow bolt flew upwards from the bow and rebounded off the cavern roof. Annabelle made a grab for Griffiths' other arm, missed, and staggered forwards, right into Molly, who had just emerged from the tunnel, white-faced and scared-looked.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Molly said. Then the collision with Annabelle knocked her headlong into Griffiths. 

Griffiths, who had just succeeded in dislodging Norah, backhanded Molly away with a shout of fury.

"Don't you fuckin' touch me!" Molly snarled, and she kicked Griffiths hard on the kneecap.

Griffiths shouted again, this time with pain. Then he went down with Spike on top of him.

"Get back!" Giles yelled at the girls. He climbed to his feet with difficulty. His knee had taken the brunt of the impact this time and felt swollen and tender. He limped towards the struggle, trying to keep the torch steady, eyes on Spike's body, which jerked this way and that as Griffiths tried to throw him off, and on Spike's raised fist.

The fist came down once, twice - both times accompanied by a ragged scream of pain from Spike. After the second blow, Griffiths' body was still, and Spike slumped forward, groaning and clutching his head. 

Giles bent and put a hand on Spike's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Spike looked up at him. Tears were pouring down his face. "Fucking hurts!" he groaned.

"Is he dead?" Norah asked. "What was wrong with him? Why did he start shooting?"

"Yeah," Molly said. "Is anyone ever gonna tell me what the fuck is goin' on?"

Giles put his hand under Spike's arm and helped him to his feet. "Remember what I told you? I think he must have seen some ghost from his past." 

God knows, he thought, there must be enough to choose from.

"Know how he feels," Spike muttered. 

"Ghost?" Molly said, and it was only now that Giles took in her appearance. She'd been crying, and her eye makeup had run. Her pale cheeks were smeared with black. "Is that what I just seen back there? A ghost?"

"Who was it?" Annabelle asked her. "I saw my grandmother. It was horrible. She said I was going to die."

"Yeah?" Molly gave her a strange look. "Me too, 'cept I saw my mum's old boyfriend. Hated him. Was glad when he snuffed it. Said a man in black was comin' for me. Fucking druggie paedo."

Spike drew Giles a little aside. 

"What're we gonna do with him?" He toed Griffiths' limp body with his foot. "Also, was a bit convenient, don't you think, that whatever-he-saw turnin' up when it did?" 

He lowered his voice further. "An' what he said about this place not being here before, you gettin' the impression someone _wanted_ us to see it?"

Giles grimaced, remembering the pure malevolence, glimpsed for a moment in the eyes of a woman he'd loved. He said nothing. 

"What is it?" Spike asked. "You know, Giles. Tell me."

Giles drew a ragged breath. There were confessions to be made on both sides. "I will," he assured Spike. "After we warn Travers." 

He indicated Robson. "Would you mind? As for Griffiths, we'll have to leave him here. I don't know what else we can do, do you?"

"S'pose not." Spike gave him a dubious look, but a moment later, Robson was slung across his shoulder again. Robson was still unconscious, but this time, he groaned softly when Spike picked him up. Whatever De Souza had given him must be wearing off at last. 

Giles knelt down, gingerly on his sore knee, to feel in Griffiths' pockets for the keys. It was unnerving touching him, and Giles half-expected Griffiths to grab his hand suddenly and break all his fingers. But Griffiths was as dead to the world as Robson. The head torch was still working, despite the struggle with Spike, and for a moment, Giles considered taking it. But it seemed wrong to leave Griffiths floundering in the dark when he regained consciousness, so Giles left it.

He climbed laboriously back onto his feet. Then, with a last look around the cavern, he shepherded the three girls towards the exit.

"Are we going back?" Norah asked.

"Yes," Giles said. He hadn't changed his mind on that point. "We have to warn them."

Norah grimaced. "Lydia was nice anyway."

"No, she wasn't," Molly protested. "Stuck up cow."

Giles hardly heard her. As they went back up the tunnel his sense of disorientation was growing. Surely it had been curved before? This time, it went straight. What's more, they'd been walking for at least a minute and there was no sign of the main tunnel up ahead. Instead, the one they were in made a sharp jink to the right and ended abruptly at a big metal door. 

Giles set his ear to it and heard, on the other side, the unmistakeable sound of an Underground train entering a station. 

He turned. Behind him, a single tunnel, white-tiled and with a curved ceiling, disappeared, arrow-straight, into darkness. "We've gone wrong somewhere." 

"No, we haven't," Spike said. "There weren't any choices. This was the only way to go."

Giles tried to push past him. "We have to go back."

But Spike grabbed his arm and pulled him to one side. "You know what I think?" he said, "I think that's some pretty powerful mojo back there. I think whatever it was - the thing you're gonna tell me about- that wanted us to find that dynamite doesn't want us tipping off your Watcher mates. You wanna save 'em, Giles, best is, we get out of here and find a bloody phone pronto."

For a moment, Giles strained against Spike's grip, but he knew Spike was right. If they tried to go back, either they would end up back here again, or be lost forever in the dark.

"Giles?" Spike let him go. 

"All right," Giles said. He fumbled the keys he'd taken from Griffiths out of his pocket, and began to try them methodically in the door. After the third failed attempt, his hands began to shake. The surge of adrenalin that had got him through the last few hours had dissipated, and he was deathly tired.

"Here." Spike took the keys off him and passed them to Norah. "You do it, love. Old Mr Giles here's quite done in, I think. Not enough tea, probably."

"I beg your..." Giles began, but then he saw the gleam of mischief in Spike's eyes. _You evil little shit_ , he thought. 

But he was secretly pleased. It felt like Spike had forgiven him.

Norah tried one key after another, as the suffocating dark pressed in behind them. At last, the tumblers clicked and the door swung inwards. Blinding light flooded into the tunnel - along with noise. So much noise - loudspeaker announcements, the sound of footsteps, the howl of a train leaving the platform. 

Giles led the way into the rush hour crowd, which parted to let them in, not without a few quizzical glances, especially at Spike and the unconscious Robson. 

A blast of wind from the tunnel heralded the approach of another train. As it thundered into the station, Giles heard Spike say to one gawker, "Great party, mate. You really should've been there."

The man looked away, embarrassed.

Then the peculiar nature of their arrival was forgotten as the train doors opened and the crowd surged forward onto the already crowded train. 

"Out the bloody way!" Spike pushed his way through, using Robson's dangling feet as a battering ram and with the three girls and Giles caught up in his slipstream. Giles breathed a sigh of relief as the doors shut behind them. Squashed right next to the door, with his face in someone's armpit, he managed to grab hold of one of the overhead handholds just as the train started, jerked, began to pull away from the platform, then stopped again.

A ripple of annoyance went through the passengers at the delay. Probably, Giles thought, someone had caught a garment in the closing door. 

As they waited, Giles scanned the disconsolate travellers left on the platform - the ones who hadn't made it onto the train. Then, just as the train began to move again, he noticed that someone - a woman- was standing at the very edge of the platform, right by the entrance to the Underground tunnel - a sight to turn any Tube driver's blood to ice with the fear of 'one under.' 

But the figure didn't move, except to raise an arm and wave at the passing train. Meanwhile, its eyes sought out Giles's, met them and gazed right into them.

It was Jenny – dark hair, dark eyes, white dress with the soft flower print.

But as Giles stared, horror-struck, Jenny’s form began to waver and flow, like water rippling, and suddenly she was Ms Harkness, tall and dignified, pinning him down with her forbidding gaze.

As the train picked up speed, the figure changed again to the lanky figure of Radley. Three arms all waving the same sardonic wave, three different faces, all wearing identical expressions of gleeful malice. 

Suddenly, Giles knew without a shadow of a doubt, that for Travers, for Lydia and the others, it was already too late.

Then, the train screamed into the tunnel and they were once again lost in darkness.


End file.
